


Hit Like You Love: Fast, Hard, and With Maximum Scarring

by lovehugsandcandy



Category: Ride or Die (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 12:19:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19812181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovehugsandcandy/pseuds/lovehugsandcandy
Summary: Ellie’s first year at Langston, punctuated by the inevitable breakdown.





	Hit Like You Love: Fast, Hard, and With Maximum Scarring

She was being haunted. She swore to God, she swore, she was being haunted.

It was either that or she was going insane.

“I am so so sorry. It’s just….”

His posture eased as he looked her over. When he had turned, quickly, startled by her rough hand clasping his forearm, she thought he would throw a punch, her muscles tensing as she expected the hit. But when he caught sight of her, a small girl staring as if he was a hallucination from the past, he obviously didn’t think she was much of a threat. He only blinked behind his glasses as she struggled to speak.

“You just look like someone I used to know.”

He brushed a strand of his long hair off his face, the dark lines of his tattoos shifting with every movement of his hand, as if they were alive.

“No worries.”

She blinked back the tears as she stepped back, meek smile on her face; she could only nod as she shoved her hands in her pockets and hurried away. She had been on her way to the gym, could still make her session if she hurried, but she was now one of those crazy people who hung out in Langston Square, harassing strangers. She could have sworn, from the back…

He was tall and lanky and moved with the same manic energy. He had even been looking over a sports car for Christ’s sake.

She had to shake her head. It wasn’t him, it wasn’t them, it never was. 

She walked faster, breezing into the studio with minutes to spare, darting into the locker room to drop her stuff, wrap her hands, and grab her gloves.

Talia gave her a wave as she walked over. “How you doin’ today, darlin’?

“Fine.” She shot her a tight smile. After training together for months, Talia had an ingrained understanding of when Ellie wanted to talk and when she wanted to hit. And today, she wanted to hit. Hard.

“Ok. Let’s get you to the heavy bag to start.”

She breathed through her nose; this was her favorite, her time to hit as ferociously as she wanted, not worrying about aiming towards the pads of the instructor or dodging the blows from a partner. She could channel everything, all her pain, all her rage, right into the tall bag in front of her, feeling the fire and fury flying through her fists until she collapsed.

At the beginning, she had her pick of whose face she would see. Mostly, it had been Jason, with his machinations and his cold villainy upsetting the lives of the people she loved. Sometimes, it was Kaneko, whose machinations were no less lethal, except he was the one who died, leaving behind hollow eyes and heartbreak. Sometimes, it was her dad, for never seeing her, the real her, instead imagining an angel where a flesh-and-blood person existed. A couple of times, it was Logan, for getting her into this mess in the first place.

A lot of times, more times than she ever would admit, it was Colt, the self-proclaimed king of LA. She could see him clear as day in front of her, smug smile just demanding to be punched off his beautiful face. She would punch his jaw with all the anger of being alone, left hook to the nose with the pain of both leaving and being left behind, and a right cut hardest of all, imagining hitting the beautiful brown eyes and the immaculate eyebrows, imagining he was right there, putting all her force into the face of the boy whose brokenness broke her heart.

Now, after months of training and hitting, it was always the same person, imagining the same face in the bag in front of her as she pummeled away, anger overflowing and exploding until she collapsed onto the mat, a sweaty mess. 

How did she get here? How was she not smart enough to get out earlier, before everything had crumbled and broken like shards of glass? How had she lost everything, including herself? 

Why was she so adrift, alone?

She was no queen. She was just someone who couldn’t keep it together, someone who couldn’t save the people she cared most about. 

She kept going going going as she beat the utter shit out of herself, the guilt and pain she felt every day turned onto the bag until her fists throbbed and her knuckles bled and she could focus on the type of hurt that could be bandaged and iced and solved with time and painkillers.

“Your form is slipping. Left punch, getting sloppy, power from your body, not just your arm.”

She blinked the sweat from her eyes to return to the present, focusing on the bag, her face, and slamming her fist against her own jaw in a violent penance.

~~~~~

The first time was October. The summer had gone by in a daze; she passed through classes and classmates as if drugged, days blurring from one to the next as she tried to reconcile the last few months with her current life.

She did not want to go to class today, a brisk October morning, the hot summer slowly fading into cool breezes and warm sweaters. She was on her way to the Starbucks, early; it was a bit out of her way but the coffee at the campus center was absolutely foul.

She was about to walk in, avoiding the constant stream of commuters, when the rev of an engine made her pause. Traffic was always crazy here and, if there were sports cars, it was usually only late Saturday night, when the roads were empty and the cops were out corralling drunks, only on Saturdays when she could watch the cars zoom through the streets. She never joined them; even just watching hurt her heart too badly.

She meant to take a quick look, just a glance over her shoulder, but froze when she saw the car, stopped at the light. The yellow caught her eye and, as she looked through the crowd, her feet moved before she realized what it was, body faster on the uptake than her mind. She broke into a run, backpack slamming into her spine with each step; she had to make it before the light turned, pushing through people in power suits on their way to the subway. A yellow GT was such a rare sight; all she could see was the car, so close but so far away, shoulder checking the crowd out of her way.

Someone started yelling at her when their coffee ended up on the pavement. She kept running.

She arrived at the corner just in time to see the light change, to hear the roar of the engine, the squeal of the tires. She couldn’t see the driver but it looked like a MA licence plate.

It wasn’t. It definitely wasn’t. 

Could it be?

No. She was haunted. Or she was losing her mind.

~~~~~

That was when she started going to the boxing gym. It was more expensive than the athletic center on campus but it was where she could go and bang out all her frustration, all her anger. It was cathartic. 

And it was definitely what she needed in February when she overheard a feminine voice speaking in a familiar tongue, the melody washing over her as she sat in the library, bent over a textbook.

“Min khilal almueanat ainbathaqat…”

Ellie looked around, dropping her pen, standing. Her chair fell to the floor but she didn’t even realize, didn’t hear the crash. Who was speaking? Was she hearing things? Hearing things in Arabic?

“’..aqwaa alnufusa; ‘akthar alshakhsiat…” 

Ellie ducked through the stacks, frantic, closer to the words, sprinting forward to a small desk in the corner, overlooking the quad.

“…alhayilat mahruqat bialnadabat.” She had dark hair, shining in the fluorescent lights of the library. 

Ellie sprinted closer, the girl turning at the footsteps, loud in the stillness of the library. “That’s Lebanese poetry.”

The girl looked blankly at her. “Uh, yeah? It’s Kahlil Gibran.”

Ellie studied her. The girl looked like an upperclassman, large glasses hiding pale eyes. Not …not anyone she knew. “I just…I’ve heard that before.”

“Okay?”

Ellie had enough social sense to know that she was intruding but she had always wondered. “What does it mean?”

The girl raised a manicured eyebrow, peering at Ellie. “Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.”

_Of course it did_. Ellie could only nod, turning to her table, intent on packing up her things and putting some distance between her and the ghosts.

~~~~~

She kept studying. Kept her head in the books. Finals were a month away. She couldn’t have her breakdown now.

She was enjoying the sun in the quad and was almost done highlighting the last chapter of her history book, almost ready to start the slow process of reviewing the material for the final, when she heard it. She would know that noise anywhere.

There was a motorcycle winding through campus, heading up the hill towards the dorms, slowly, probably unable to get to speed due to all the students out on this pristine day.

It wasn’t just any motorcycle; it was a Cavalieri. She knew that roar intimately, the purr of engine and kick of the muffler so familiar from flying down the highway, arms clutched around the boy she abandoned, across the country, along with the piece of her heart that would fill the gaping hole in her chest. It was probably a Novanta too, probably white, just one more thing designed to test her sanity and find it wanting.

She didn’t even look up, didn’t turn to see the source of noise. She just packed up her stuff and trudged back to her dorm to grab her gym bag.

She was losing her mind.

~~~~~

She really needed to punch today. The weight of finals was upon her, studying and papers and presentations sending her reeling.

Even worse was the thought of summer break, looming, always there in the back of her mind. She had no idea what she was going back to. She tried to put it aside, tried to ignore it, pinching her skin to distract her, the sharp prick of pain enough to move the thoughts from her head to the present. 

But today, even the strongest pain wasn’t enough to quell her anxiety. The burn of her blood and the chatter in her brain was particularly strong. She had to get off campus.

She walked down the street, eyes down, visualizing the movement of her hands, her fists hitting the bag, when the store to her left called to her. It was a small tattoo shop, dim, door open in the morning breeze, art on the wall showcasing the designs. The line work was beautiful, absolutely gorgeous, but one design in particular caught her eye, Ellie peering in the window for a closer look.

She knew those lines, the delicate tufts of the feather, the same feather that adorned her shoulder. That was her tattoo.

Ellie took a step towards the door, entered the shop, in a daze. In a small room behind a curtain, the tattoo gun was going, mechanized needle whirling. 

Ellie couldn’t breathe.

The needle stopped. “Sweetie, you ok?” a feminine voice asked, calm, gentle.

Ellie couldn’t think. She burst through the curtain so quickly it was like it wasn’t there, barely recognizing the shout of the tattoo artist as her gaze swept the room. Where was she? _Where was she?_

The artist just stared at her, needle gun in hand, still crouched over her customer, a man who was getting a tramp stamp. The customer stared too, looking up at her from the reclined chair.

“Hello?” The artist was tiny, a frail thing that would only have come up to Ximena’s stomach, the bright blues and pinks of her sleeves a marked contrast to the intricate black lines that traced up Ximena’s arms.

Ellie couldn’t say anything. She could have sworn…she was _certain_ …

“Well, this is wicked weird. If you wanted to see my ass, you coulda just asked.”

She was losing her mind.

“I’m so sorry.”

The girl stood, concerned glance sweeping down Ellie’s face. “Are you sure you’re ok, sweetie?”

That kindness, that word-it was the last thing Ellie could bear. She was not ok.

She backed away, through the curtain, and fled. She made it four steps down the street, and had to put her hands on her knees as her breakfast came up, thick and acidic, her mouth and nose clogging with the smell, stomach acid and digested food in a pile on the sidewalk. She was choking, air unable to fill her lungs, retching, getting the last dregs in her stomach out, coughing, hunched over the street, tears mixing with the vomit on the ground.

“Are you ok?”

She whirled, hands coming out to shove, hard, get that hand off her shoulder, get it away from her. She barely registered the surprised look, the face of a stranger, blurry through the tears. “Fuck off!”

Then she ran. She flew, sprinted to the gym, feet furiously pounding a rhythm on the streets, bag flying behind her as she dodged puddles and potholes and people and dogs on leashes that were barely visible at speed.

Her mind was buzzing as she stormed in, wrapping her wrists fast, too fast, too tight, but oh well; they would loosen when she started punching.

Talia raised an eyebrow at her but said nothing about her appearance or her energy, frazzled, frantic, desperate. “Partner practice today.”

Ellie blinked. She didn’t even notice the other boxer there. Today, she was partnered up with a taller girl. She had seen her around the gym occasionally, training, horsing around at the front desk.

“Fine.”

Ellie slid on her gloves, ducking into the ring. She had hated this when Talia suggested it but didn’t care today, couldn’t care about anything but getting her fists flying, needing the movement to drown out everything in her head.

Her mouth tasted awful, sour, but it faded into the background as she studied her opponent and listened for Talia’s count.

And then sprung.

Usually, she waited, circling, studying her opponent, looking for weaknesses. Today was a day for action.

And she already knew Jason’s weaknesses anyways. 

She got him quick, in the jaw, the surprised gasp from his lips the most beautiful thing she had ever heard. She hit Kaneko, hard, left hook, usually her weakest punch, but today it landed with the force of retribution.

She hit herself, over and over and over again, sweat blinding her, but she kept charging anyways, fists flying. The Ellie in front of her fell, flat on her back, overcome by the force of her anger, and she jumped; once she was straddled on top of her, thighs squeezing her stomach and forcing the air from her lungs like she could squeeze the mistakes from her soul, it was so easy to punch down, fists flying so fast her form fell off and it was just a blur of slamming fists, pain radiating up her arms as they moved faster and faster than ever before.

“Stop!” Strong arms wrapped around her waist, picking her up. Ellie fought back like a wildcat, spitting and scratching and kicking. She needed just one more punch, one more hit. “Ellie, stop!”

She blinked, world coming back into focus. Talia was staring at her, eyes wide. On the ground, the girl, her partner, her sparring partner oh crap, she was just sitting up, looking dazed, blood flowing from a broken nose, a split lip.

Ellie looked around. They were starting to attract a crowd, the muscled bros taking an interest and starting to wander over.

Talia gritted her teeth. “Showers. Now.”

Ellie couldn’t say a word, could only look down at the blood before fleeing to the locker room. It was empty when she slammed in, the crash of the door behind her echoing on the tiles. She looked at her reflection, bent over the sink. Her hair was wild, frizzing atop her head and falling out of her ponytail. Her eyes were red, deep circles under her eyes that could be mistaken for bruises. She looked wild, untamed, ferocious.

She looked like the same girl who had lost everything and everyone.

She didn’t realized that she made a fist until her hand crashed into the mirror, shards flying, tinkling onto the counters and sink like a bell, ringing to signal her descent to the underworld, to madness. She slammed her fist into the mirror again and again and again, primal scream forcing her pain to echo around her, blood dripping down her forearm and falling onto the porcelain, splattering into an angry design, documenting her rage in vivid, angry red.

“Whoa.” Talia was there, grabbing her shoulder, turning her. “Stop, stop.”

Ellie’s breath was coming in spurts. She couldn’t catch her breath, inhale and exhale shuddering, unsteady. “I’m sorry. I’ll pay for it.”

“Girl, I’m not worried about the mirror.” Talia pulled and then Ellie was in her arms, holding on for dear life, as the tears flowed down her cheeks and the sobs started. Talia held her, rubbing her back, murmuring nothings into her ear, until the water stopped flowing from her eyes, breath slowing to the occasional hiccups. “Ellie, what’s going on?”

“I think I’m losing my mind.” She slid onto the bench, suddenly boneless. “Tali, I think I’m going crazy.”

“Tell me.”

“I had…I had a rough time before I came here.” Once the words started, she couldn’t stop them. “I got in over my head and I did bad things, things that hurt people, things that hurt people I loved. I saw someone die in front of me, I had a gun pointed to my head, my friend got shot protecting me.” The blood was still dripping from her hand, onto the floor. “I left behind people that I loved and I hurt every single day.”

“Ellie….” Talia sat next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, calming hands stroking her hair.

“I see it, I see them, every night. I see the car crash and the flames and the gun and I see his eyes after he lost everything. It’s all I see, them, him, over and over again, and I can’t do it, I can’t.” She swiped her hand over her eyes, realizing too late that she was just smearing the blood, pushing the glass into her cuts. “I just want….I want…”

“What do you want, darlin’?”

Ellie’s face crumpled. “I wanna go home.”

“Why don’t you?”

“I’m not sure the home I want exists anymore.”

~~~~~

It was late when she got back, dusk starting to fall as she opened the door. She was dropping her things on the floor when he roommate spoke. 

“You got some mail.” Angie was buried in a chem book at her desk, careful formulas written in neat pen. Ellie wasn’t close with her roommate but didn’t begrudge Angie that fact; Ellie knew she wasn’t the best person to live with right now. Consecutive nights of being awoken by your roommate, screaming from the dreams she couldn’t shake, nightmares that shattered her to the core, well, Ellie couldn’t blame the distance on Angie.

“Delivered here?”

Angie shrugged, holding out a small padded envelope. Ellie took it; no return address but the postmark was from LA. Her hands started shaking as she struggled once, twice, to rip it open.

Inside, her fingers found a small piece of plastic. She pulled it out to study it and all the air left her lungs.

“Ellie?”

She tore into the envelope further, frantic; there was no note, nothing else, just this small piece of plastic. She knew immediately who it was from.

“Ellie? Is that a chess piece?”

“Yeah.” Ellie could only blink, eyes wide. “You see this too, right?“

Angie leaned back, averting her eyes, as she moved away from where Ellie was shaking the piece in her face.

“You see this too, right?” Ellie couldn’t stop the tears from pooling in her eyes. “It’s not a trick, not a hallucination, you see this right?!?!” She ended the question on a yell, a shriek, a high-pitched inhuman noise that grated in the room.

“Yes, Ellie.” Angie’s voice was calm, measured. She stood so the chair was between Ellie and herself. “It’s a chess piece.”

“It’s the queen.” The fight left Ellie as she stared at the piece in her hand. “It"s the most powerful piece in the game. It can move in any direction, as many moves as it wants.” It can move thousand of miles or it can stay close to home.

“I thought the king was the powerful one. Don’t you win in chess when you capture the king?”

She looked past her, jaw clenching. “A queen never lets her king fall.”

“Ellie, are you ok?” Angie stared at her, just watching, letting her sit in her memories and her pain. “I’m worried about you.”

Ellie had been worried for months, almost a year, worries streaming through her brain on an ever-looping playlist that she couldn’t turn off.

She dropped the queen, watching it roll under Angie’s bed, and walked out of their room.

~~~~~

She barely slept. The nightmares wouldn’t stop, Jason and her dad and the explosion on the bridge and Colt, always Colt, the king to her queen, she could never reach him, feet like molasses as she ran and struggled and screamed.

At least it had been finals and then planning the drive to LA and then packing, enough to do that she could fill her hours with coffee and tasks and boxing and hitting and more coffee and the days could blur together so it felt like she was walking through a fever dream, a faded world separate from herself.

Finally, the day came where she could leave. If she planned just right, this last box should fit in the trunk, squished between her suitcase and textbooks. 

She didn’t know if she would be back.

She tried to walk slowly, to force herself to look, to remember. If this really was her last day at Langston, she wanted to try to remember, remember the dorm, the hall, the stairs, every step. 

Maybe she hadn’t taken full advantage of college while she had been here but, if she were leaving behind her childhood dream, she would at least remember it.

But she didn’t think she would miss it.

The midday sun was blinding as she walked out, unsteady, heading down the path to her car. She had squint as she walked carefully down the stairs, through the parking lot, popping the trunk to throw the box in. She slammed it with a sigh. _Guess this is it._

She walked towards the driver’s side and screamed.

“Ellie.”

She screamed again. She had lost it completely. Apparently leaving school was the last thing her fragile psyche could take and she lost her mind, hallucinations speaking to her and moving towards her, clad in leather, sunlight reflecting off the blinding white paint job on the bike behind them.

“Ellie.”

She backed against the door to her car. He stopped, wary, giving her some space.

They stared at each other. 

His face fell. 

He must have seen it in her eyes, seen that she was haunted and drowning. He knew that pain intimately because she could see it reflected right back at her, his own eyes cloudy with the past.

He took a step closer, hands outstretched, as if he was calming a wild animal. 

He had always known her better than anyone else in the goddamn world.

Another step closer, another, and she was falling, wrapped into his arms, jacket warm on her cheek, inhaling the scent of leather and motor oil with every breath as she sagged into him, tears pouring down her cheeks as her body shook in silent sobs. He held her up, silently, hands wrapped around her back, occasional kisses in her hair, on her cheeks.

Once the tears had stopped and she could look up at him, really see him, he smiled at her, soft, still holding onto her, holding her up until she could find her own footing.

“El? Let’s go home.”


End file.
